Lobbyists align themselves with legislators, one another

ATLANTA - When asked by legislators about the importance of a bill he was pushing, lobbyist James "Jet" Toney often told them "the freedom of Western civilization" wasn't at stake.

Until the day Toney found himself on one side of the issue - and a group of military generals on the other.

Toney was fighting a bill to crack down on payday lending. He believed, and still does, that the bill would put "mom-and-pop" establishments out of business while failing to stop chain operations.

The generals, appearing not long after the September 2001 terrorist attacks, said that many soldiers were finding themselves in a trap caused by payday lending.

"I turned to my cohorts, and I said, 'Well, I finally got an issue in which the freedom of Western civilization is at stake,' " Toney remembered recently.

Not unlike the generals Toney faced off with that day, lobbyists have their own war stories from years in the trenches, fighting for and against legislation that can profoundly affect their clients. The often whimsical tales reflect life in a business that still is largely cordial even when it's confrontational.

Neill Herring, whose clients include environmental groups, recalls one frantic effort to make sure that associations of city and county governments fell under the state's open-records laws.

The Senate Judiciary Committee, which was considering the bill, didn't have the quorum necessary to pass the measure, Herring remembers.

So one of his colleagues went into the hall to find a committee member. Luckily, he did.

The hapless legislator found himself being rushed toward the room, with Herring's colleague saying, "Come with me, quick, come with me."

Once the senator was in the room, those supporting the measure didn't waste any time giving him further instructions.

"Just vote 'yes,' " they said.

"We explained it to him, after it was over, (and told him) what a wonderful thing he had done for the people of Georgia," Herring remembered.

There is a semiofficial outlet for lobbyist frivolity, the Golden Pigeon awards dinner, which takes place every January. There, the paid advocates share inside jokes and hand out "awards" such as the Homing Pigeon, given to the legislator who goes home early and doesn't do much entertaining.

"It's just for the lobbyists," said Arthur "Skin" Edge, a former Senate Republican leader who now lobbies. "No senators, no representatives."

The money often is given to a good cause. One year, Toney remembered, the money was given to the family of a legislative secretary killed in an automobile wreck.

And the dinner is just one example of the sense of community that lobbyists share. Most of the time, lobbyists say, the battles under the Gold Dome don't become personal.

"It's a pretty close-knit group of folks," Edge said.

For one thing, it's practical. Lobbyists, obviously, are not able to be in more than one place at the same time. They often depend on each other for a warning if an issue important to a client is about to be considered.

"My skin has been saved two or three times by those kinds of heads-up," J. Clint Austin said.

It's also smart. Most lobbyists realize that alliances or rivalries are temporary, and today's opponent could be tomorrow's ally.

"Once that issue is over, the successful lobbyists, the good lobbyists, move on to the next issue," Edge said.